Friday, June 27, 2014

Sarlat's Saturday Market in Southwestern France

After what feels like far too long, I am back in the land of Neandertals, Cro-Magnon, truffles, troubadours, and life closely lived in connection with the land, waterways, and sky. The market sets up below my window over one of two market squares. First arrived the fish seller at 5:30 AM to arrange her fish as florists arrange gorgeous bouquets. I can see that dourade, flounder, trout, scallops, mussels and oysters are a part of the sparkling fresh display.




A huge storm just washed through early this morning. While for the fish seller the challenge wasn't as great, as the fish were already wet, the bread baker had more of a time keeping his oven fresh goods dry. He succeeded and both vendors were able to greet, while still setting up, old time customers, locals in their 70s to 90s, who like to hit the market before the great crowds of visitors arrive to take in one of France's most beautiful markets. An elderly man in his 80s arrived with his umbrella and his little woven basket hung on one arm and bought some trout. Another in his 70s came with his shopping bag and picked up a few loaves of rustic bread. 

Long ago as an anthropologist I learned that markets will tell you a lot about the personality of the community in which they unfold week after week. Markets will tell you how they treat each other. They will tell you how they welcome outsiders. They will tell you how well they live the day to day. And if you are lucky and return again and again, they will tell you deep stories of remarkable lives that unfold lyrically and engagingly in their usual 25 mile radius.

This market reflects kindness to each other, a warm welcome to the visitor, whether s/he visits only once or is a repeat fan like myself. It reflects a deep connection to the land and the seasons, to locally grown and organic and locally crafted foods. And it offers rich, engaging stories, some of which I have been lucky enough to write about in my forthcoming travel memoir, Cafe Oc. For the latter, stay tuned, it should be out soon and I'll announce it here (You can learn more from my talk about it on YouTube though!). For the former, let your imagination come here and soak up the colors and smells, and the addictive laughter of the woman who sells goat cheese from Rocamadour, the saucy banter of the fish seller, the steady low key warmth of the bread baker, the bright warmth of the strawberry seller, and the Occitan garden talk of the lettuce seller and her husband with just picked greens from their kitchen garden. 


Ah, and now all the merchants have gathered at the bread baker's stand and are enjoying a traditional breakfast of foie gras, cheese, bread, and red wine, each ingredient contributed from each vendor's stand. Add savoring life to the market's personality. I have one week in this sublime spot and then I move a few miles south to begin the dig season with work at the Neandertal site of La Ferrassie for the rest of the summer. That is a related adventure. I may not get to see the weekly market set up under my window but I will get to the roots of the original inhabitants in this food rich land and gain better insights into why they too were drawn here. (I will write about that in my forthcoming book, Cafe Neanderthal).

May we all be reminded and bring into our lives again and again what these markets sustain: community, life with the land and each other and all creatures, and a daily balance that speaks of deep well being and real wealth.



Friday, May 30, 2014

Talking about Cafe Oc

This YouTube video comes from a fun talk I was invited to give at Johnson County Community College in Overland Park, Kansas: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iN2lJB23o3I.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

A Taste for Truffles (and other earthy delights) in Sarlat

“You must pay attention to the ground,” explained my friend, Gerard, who is from Sarlat, an important town in the Périgord for the native black truffle, Tuber melanosporum. He was standing in his backyard truffière—a cluster of native evergreen oak inoculated with the truffle spore. Truffles grow symbiotically near oak and hazel tree roots. They are feisty and elude efforts to cultivate them. They’ll appear when they want to. He was giving me my first lesson toward becoming a knowledgeable truffle hunter.


“Once you know the ground surface around the trees,” Gerard went on, “you’ll see when a part of it swells; that could be a truffle.” If you also see flies hovering around that spot, you’re guaranteed a little lump of black gold, but dig it up fast. The little buggers will lay their eggs in it and when the larvae hatch, they’ll feast on the musty-scented, nutty-flavored truffle like mother’s milk. Dogs and pigs are also used to locate truffles but Gerard’s method eliminates training the dog or competing with the pig, who will eat it tout de suite.

The first historical note about truffles dates to 5th century BCE Athens where a foreigner purchased citizenship with a plate of truffles. Today the fungus is no less lucrative and demands around 1000 Euros/kilo.

But a person of modest means can sample this earthy delight every November to February at Sarlat’s Saturday truffle market.


The town also hosts a Fête de la Truffe the third weekend in January when famous chefs offer truffle appetizers with regional wines at bite-sized costs. This year, as every year, the town’s main market square, the Place de la Liberté, filled up with white tents hosting celebrated chefs and their truffle creations. Visitors can pay a few Euros for a truffle appetizer and a glass of wine paired to go with that particular treat. 


And while this year’s festival has passed, each month seems to have a seasonal food festival. February’s will be the goose festival, Fête de l’Oie (set for this weekend). Soon, little tastes about town will involve all manner of fowl creation, from confit, to cassoulet, to grilled meats, to foie gras. Truffles will make a showing here too, so, not all is a lost if you missed the January festival.

Gerard has the best perch for all of this. Living on his own land, overlooking the town of Sarlat, every morning he goes out to his truffière while the bells of Saint Sacerdos cathedral ring the resonant hours up to his hill. Birds flock to his fruit trees nearby, and his friendly cats rub up against his legs as he takes in the fresh morning or afternoon air.

His is a daily festival for the joy of living here.